


out of chaos we are born

by Nadin



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Character Study - Fandom, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Steve is being a guy we all want, WW84
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadin/pseuds/Nadin
Summary: WonderTrev Love Week 2018Bonus day - Free formHe doesn’t say that he knows what happened. He doesn’t need to. The whole world mourns, there is no escape from it.Steve comforts Diana after the events in Batman vs. Superman and Superman’s death. Set in the WW84 universe.





	out of chaos we are born

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed some sweet Steve so this happened. I regret nothing.

The light is on in the living room when Diana lands on the balcony of her apartment in Paris that overlooks a quiet street, dark and empty at this time of night. On the other side of French doors, Steve is standing by the fireplace, his brows furrowed and his forehead crowded with worry.

He looks up when she pulls the door open and steps inside, bringing cool air with her, concerned lines in the corners of his mouth smoothing out a bit and the stiff line of his shoulders going slack. The tightness in her chest eases, familiar warmth unfurling inside of her at the sight of him. Relief and hope and comfort take place of the darkness that has found residence there when she saw the life drain out of Superman.

“Why are you still up?” She asks, which is a ridiculous thing to ask. A ridiculous thing to care about. Still, she craves normalcy.

“Thought you’d be coming home tonight,” Steve says quietly. “Figured it’d be faster for you to do that than for me to catch a plane.”

He doesn’t say that he knows what happened. He doesn’t need to. The whole world mourns, there is no escape from it.

Diana sets her shield down, leaning it against the wall, and by the time she has straightened up, Steve is there, gathering her to him, mindful of the sharpness of the sword still hanging behind her back. His hold is tight and maybe a tad panicked. She wraps her arms around him and feels an unsteady breath escape his chest.

She couldn’t bear the thought of staying there, in Gotham. Not even for one night. Needed to see him, make sure that he was alright even though she had no reason to think otherwise. Watching Lois Lane kneel beside Clark’s body and cradle it to her undid something inside of Diana. She remembers the loss. Remembers it better than she wants to, better than anyone should. She could feel Lois’s pain as her own, just as sharp and hot and consuming.

And she couldn’t stand being there and not here.

Her clothes and her computer and the rest of her possessions are still waiting for her in a hotel room that she had to extend when the news of an attack came in. She will get them when she goes to a funeral, but it is not for another three days. Too long to simply sit around there, unbearably so.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks after a long moment, kissing her hair.

“I am,” she says. “I needed to come back.” Her voice is muffled, quiet.

“I’m glad you did,” he breathes, drawing back to have a look at her. He touches her hair, her cheek as if needing reassurance as much as she does. “I’m sorry.”

Diana doesn’t ask what he means. There is only one thing.

She nods. It is not her loss to claim, not her loss to feel, but it has hit too close to home, scaring her. She knows about Bruce, knows who and what he is. He is mortal, and if he got hurt she wouldn’t have been surprised. Superman was a different story. The rules were different for him, he was supposed to be indestructible, safe from harm no matter how bad. He was wrong; they all were.

Now Diana can’t help but think of her own tipping point, of what is it out there that can make her heart stop beating. It unsettles her more than she is willing to let on. She wonders if Steve thinks about it but she doesn’t dare ask.

There are things she wants to say to him, some part of her thinking that maybe she will understand them better if she puts them into words, but her throat is tight, her mind numb, and words are not coming.

It turns out that she doesn’t need to. Steve senses her distress, his features softening as he watches her.

“It’s late,” he says, his face so close to hers they are almost touching. “You need to eat something and get some rest.”

Diana is not hungry, her stomach in knots, twisted by turmoil she is yet to sort out. She doesn’t argue though, only nods once more and lifts her hand to touch his cheek, his five o’clock stubble prickly against her fingertips. Familiar and hers.

She sucks in a shuddered breath and lets it out slowly, her heartbeat finally finding a steady rhythm again.

“I will change,” she says, suddenly overcome with the need to peel her armour off her body because it feels too tight and too out of place and she doesn’t want to think of anything that has happened several hours ago and it is a direct reminder of it all.

Steve doesn’t follow her to the bathroom and she doesn’t ask him to. In the shower, she cranks up the water until it’s running so hot she can barely stand it and scrubs her body until it feels raw, her skin pink and the space around her filled with steam so much so that she can’t see the door. She doesn’t realize that she is crying until a sob tightens in her chest, and then it is a flow she can’t stop, not even with her eyes squeezed tight and her hand pressed to her mouth.

It is about Clark but also isn’t. She hasn’t even met him, not properly, she doesn’t know much about him aside from the fact that a woman who is brave enough to follow him to a battlefield is going to have to live with a hole in her soul until her time is up. What she knows is that life can be fragile, more fragile than they foolishly assume, and it frightens her more than anything.

Still, she feels safe here. She loves Steve for and in spite of many things, but more than anything she loves him for knowing that she can be weak with him. No, not weak. Vulnerable. No one else has ever been allowed to see her as anything but a warrior. Except for him.

The shower washes away Diana’s numbness, making her feel exhausted. She cuts it short because it is not why she is here. There was a shower in her hotel room in Gotham, but not Steve.

She dries off and refuses to meet her eyes in the mirror. In the bedroom – _their_ bedroom, the thought still fresh and odd to her even though it’s been decades – she finds pyjama shorts and Steve’s shirt. Always his shirts. Steve keeps joking about how her clothes are hers but his are somehow theirs, and even though she laughs every time, they both know that he is not wrong. She likes the touch of the fabric softened by dozens of washes to her skin and a faint scent of him that clings to his clothes even when they are fresh out of the washing machine. It never fails to calm her and tonight it feels like a balm to an open wound.

Diana steps out of the bedroom just as he appears from the kitchen, a plate in his hand. He sets it down on the coffee table before the couch, and she knows that he is just as shaken as she is when no comment comes about her wardrobe choices.

They eat in silence, sitting on the couch, one of Diana’s legs tucked beneath her body and another one draped over Steve’s lap. It is not until she takes the first bite that she realizes how hungry she is. Ravenous even. There is a comfort to simple things and good food, and she needs it now.

Steve watches her, concern in his eyes dimming gradually. When she is done, he puts the plate away and runs his hand up and down her calve.

She rests her head against the back of the couch, her ache reduced to a dull throb in the center of her chest that pulses through the rest of her body.

Steve doesn’t ask her what happened even though the news couldn’t have covered much. Doesn’t ask if she wants to talk. He just says the only thing Diana needs to hear.

“I love you.”

Her throat closes up. “I love you, too,” she whispers, her fingers running back and forth over the nape of his neck.

She moves closer to him until she is half in Steve’s lap, their faces not even an inch apart. She inhales, breathes him in. And just like that, she is so tired she can feel it in her bones, feel the weight of the way pressing down on her.

Steve lifts his hand and loops a strand of her hair around her ear. “I was worried,” he murmurs, his voice so soft she almost misses what he is saying. “When that thing came for you--”

“Doomsday,” she says. “They called it Doomsday.”

His lips twitch humourlessly. “Sounds fitting, I guess.” He swallows and his smile fades. “I trust you, Diana. I know that you know what you are doing, but I’m scared anyway. Every time I see something like this, I’m terrified.”

He doesn’t ask her to stop doing what she is doing. She knows he never would, but she understands.

It has been 34 years since Steve came back to her. Back in 1984, it felt like a miracle. Now it is 2018 and it still feels that way. She still wakes up wondering if she imagined it. Even after all these years, there are still moments when she can’t see him, hear him, touch him, and she is overcome with panic. _Knowing_ that he is safe is not enough. So yes, she understands. If their roles were reversed, she would go mad with fear. If she had to watch him put himself in danger as often as he does, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She may be able to lift cars like they are as light as feathers and punch her fist through brick walls, but sometimes she can’t help but feel that between the two of them, Steve is the strong one.

The newness should have worn off, she thinks now, taking in tired lines around his eyes, but somehow it never has.

Diana blames it on the fact that whatever brought him back has changed him. In 34 years, Steve hasn’t aged a day, and she is both grateful for and apprehensive of it, not knowing what to make of it. He had buzzed his hair off once, only to have her wrinkle her nose and make him promise her that he would never do it again. He grew a beard, too, about ten years ago, thinking that it would give him a refined look. She only remembers that it used to tickle when she kissed him or when they made love.

Aside from those things, he is the same man she has met in 1918. She doesn’t question it though. Odd as it may be, she simply wants time with him.

“I know.” She takes an unsteady breath. “I will never leave you,” she promises, her fingers running idly through his hair.

Steve nods, his features relaxing at last. There is still concern pooling in his eyes but she knows there are things he doesn’t want to know. If they go down that road, if they allow themselves to venture into what-ifs, they would drown and never find their way back.

He strokes her jaw with his thumb. “I wish I was there.”

The very thought of it makes her blood run cold.

Diana meets his eyes. “I don’t. I wouldn’t want you anywhere near there, my love.”

He sighs. “You know what I mean.”

She does. She loves working with him. There is a comfortable familiarity between them, their steps and movements easy and rehearsed. When they go on missions together, it is the most natural thing. There is no one else she would rather have with her. She knows she can rely on him and Steve knows that she has his back. She knows that he needs it, too. Needs to be useful, and she would never deprive him of that.

But there are always situations that she would rather face alone. Tonight she lived through one of them. It was ugly and brutal and she felt better knowing that he was safe, hundreds of miles away from danger. She trusts him, it’s the other things that she doesn’t trust.

Steve doesn’t press.

“Are you hurt?” He asks though. He always does.

This time, she smiles and shakes her head a little. “Not a scratch,” she says.

Emotional ones don’t count.

His knuckle slides under her chin and he lifts her face up. “Promise?” He murmurs, blue eyes searching hers.

“I promise,” she breathes.

He nods again and then leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. His touch lingers and Diana revels in it, in the simplicity of something so meaningful.

She wants to tell him everything. About Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor and the photograph. They have been after it for a while now, for sentimental reasons as well as practicality. A couple of decades ago, knowing that it was out there somewhere didn’t bother Steve much, but now the facial recognition systems are far more advanced than either of them ever thought they could be, and while some part of Diana doesn’t care much, something else inside of her wants to protect what little is there left in this world that is only theirs.

But she can’t think about it now, not yet. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Lois Lane’s tear-streaked face as she clutched Superman’s body, her voice a soft whisper begging him to come back. The memory feels like a knife that twists in Diana’s heart and she bites her lip to stop the tears from spilling again.

There is a hot lump in the throat, and when Steve raises his arm and wraps it around her shoulders, she is grateful. She tucks her face into the curve of his neck and closes her eyes, feeling his pulse beat fast and steady against her skin. Can’t imagine being anywhere else right now. She curls her hand around the back of his neck and tries to match her breathing to his.

He doesn’t say it, but Diana knows what’s on his mind – Superman should never have died. If there is a way to kill him, there might be a way to kill her. She might be a daughter of god, but even gods are not invincible. She should know.

She falls asleep with Steve’s hand threading slowly through her hair and her fingers closed around a fistful of his shirt, and she dreams of fire and aches and people turning to dust.

When she wakes up, it’s almost dawn. Grey light is flooding the room and Steve’s hand is stroking her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers when she blinks her eyes open, disoriented momentarily. “You want to take this to the bedroom?”

She nods and stands up to follow him, her legs stiff from falling asleep in an awkward position. Steve takes her hand but his hold is light, allowing her to pull free if she wanted.

Diana clutches him tighter.

Her own bed is a welcome change from the hotel in Gotham. She hates sleeping without Steve, can’t stand the emptiness and cold sheets and the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She has spent enough time without him to want to never do it again.

In the bedroom, she climbs under the covers, crawling over what has become his side to her own. Steve slides in after her and she rolls over to face him. He pulls the blankets over them and tugs her closer until she is nestled into the side of his body, her arm draped over his abdomen and her leg tossed over one of his.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Steve asks quietly. “To the funeral?”

 _Yes_ , Diana thinks as her eyes drop shut. His heart is beating steadily under her cheek. She can’t think of a sound more soothing.

It is tempting to agree and to bring him with her, but while she does think that Bruce Wayne is harmless, she doesn’t trust him. Not yet. What he is doing, it comes from the goodness of his heart. He wants to help and he does it in the only way available to him, and she respects it. But he has found her, has connected the dots and figured out who she is. There is always a risk to that, she knows. She doesn’t want them to learn about Steve. Not until she is sure.

Steve wouldn’t care, she knows that, but she can’t risk it. He is all she has and she wants fiercely to protect him.

“No,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “It will only be one day. I will get my things and come right back.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t argue, and she relaxes into him.

“You know that I’d do anything for you, right?” He says softly, and Diana’s eyes begin to sting.

“I do,” Diana croaks, trying to hold back what’s coming.

He runs a soothing hand up and down her back. “I love you, Diana.”

She cries then, quiet tears for a love that wasn’t hers and mistakes she cannot amend and the pain that she feels in her soul even though she has no right to own it. She cries for another woman who has had her heart ripped out of her chest, her own scars cut open once more and raw to the touch, her heart bleeding.

Tomorrow, she will tell him everything. He will make coffee and they will sit in the kitchen and talk. She will tell him about masked saviours and the photograph, and she knows that he will probably find a way to retrieve the original. Maybe.

But right now, she needs Steve to hold her and whisper to her, the words not as important as the sound of his voice, and she needs to let herself feel the things for somebody else that she has never allowed herself to feel for her own loss.

She cries, filled with shameful relief that it is not her love she is mourning.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is it! I hope you guys had as much fun as I did! 
> 
> Let's do it again sometime?


End file.
